The Redemption of Althalus (38 page)

“He’s early, isn’t he?” Althalus noted. “Some of the passes are still clogged with snow.”

“That wouldn’t particularly bother Delur, my friend,” Albron replied. “His clan’s the biggest one in all of Arum, and he likes to rub our noses in that. He probably just sent out a few hundred men to tramp out a trail through the snow in the passes. He’s too old to ride a horse, so he does his traveling in a litter or a sled. He doesn’t pay much attention to the elements. He more or less believes that he’s something on the order of the King of Arum, so I’m sure he wants to get here and take charge before the other Clan Chiefs arrive.”

“Will the other Chiefs pay much attention to him?”

“They’ll pay a lot more attention to your gold, but we
will
want to win him over because of the number of men he can put in the field. I’ll flatter him and put on an air of obsequious respect. That’ll put him in the mood to go along with us, and your kegs of gold should clinch the arrangement.”

“That’s what they’re for, Albron. You can win a lot of arguments with twenty kegs of gold.”

Chief Delur was a tall old man with snow-white hair and a long white beard. When he was thinking about it, he stood stiffly erect as if he had a straight pole strapped to his back. When his attention wandered, however, his posture began to droop as if the weight of his years were crushing him. His outer garments were made of luxurious fur, Althalus noted as the old Chief painfully rose from the sled that four of his burly clansmen had pulled into Chief Albron’s courtyard, and the steel helmet he wore was encircled by a wide band of gold that was only a step short of being a crown.

“Well met, my son Albron!” The old man greeted his host in a voice that was no longer booming or hearty.

“My house is honored, Great Chief,” Albron replied with a floridly courtly bow. “We had not expected your arrival this early.”

“Your message stirred a great curiosity in me, my son,” the old man replied. Then he threw a sly look at his retainers. “Moreover, it seemed to me that the men of my household suffered for want of exercise, and that perchance a little jaunt through the mountains might clear their minds and strengthen their bodies that they might better serve me—forasmuch as they all assure me that serving me is their only reason for living.”

That brief flicker of irony suggested to Althalus that Albron’s assessment of Chief Delur hadn’t been entirely accurate. Delur was not
quite
as senile as the other Chiefs appeared to believe he was. Althalus quietly decided to watch the old man rather carefully and to form his
own
opinion.

“Let us go inside, Great Chief,” Albron was saying. “The season is raw and inclement, and the fires in my hall burn bright and warm to welcome you.”

C H A P T E R     T W E N T Y

I
t was just before midnight on a blustery day a week or so later when Emmy roused Althalus from a sound sleep by touching her nose to the back of his neck. Her nose was as cold and wet as it had always been, and he jerked away from it in the traditional way. “I
wish
you wouldn’t do that,” he grumbled.

“As long as it works, why change it? Go wake the others, Althalus. There are some things we need to talk about—back at the House.”

He threw off his blankets, dressed, and went down the corridor to rouse his friends.

“Is something wrong?” Bheid asked quietly when they gathered out in the hall.

“I’m not sure. She didn’t tell me, but she wants to talk to us—in private. Take us to the House, Eliar.”

“All right.” Eliar led the way to the armory, opened the door, and led them into the familiar tower room.

“Do we have a problem of some kind, Emmy?” Gher asked Dweia after she’d resumed her real form.

“Not really. I just thought we should talk about how we’re going to present our offer to the Clan Chiefs, that’s all. Things might go more smoothly if we all tell the same story. Quite obviously we won’t be able to tell them what’s
really
happening. If Albron’s right, the Arums don’t like to get involved in religious wars, so we’ll have to invent something political for their entertainment.”

“If you’re looking for a war, Dweia, I’d be more than happy to lend you mine,” Andine offered. “The notion of all the clans of Arum marching on the city of Kanthon gives me a warm little glow.”

“It’s a simple solution,” Bheid agreed. “The Arums already know about that perpetual war between Osthos and Kanthon, so we won’t have to invent some tedious history to explain our need for a vast army.”

“And I’ll be available to present a stirring plea for their assistance in crushing the degenerates of Kanthon,” Andine added.

“It’s got a lot to be said for it, Dweia,” Althalus said. “Andine
is
the Arya of Osthos, so it stands to reason that she’d have the key to the treasury in her pocket. That’d explain where we got the gold—just in case one of the Clan Chiefs really cares.”

“Are you any good at all when it comes to speaking in public, Andine?” Leitha asked her tiny friend.

“Have you been asleep for the past several months, Leitha?” Andine asked archly. “I’m
always
speaking in public. Did you
really
think my dramatic way of speaking was an accident? My voice is the most finely tuned instrument in all of Treborea. I can sing the birds down out of the trees with it, and make stones weep, if I really want to. I probably don’t need those kegs of gold. Give me half an hour and a little room and I’ll mobilize the Arums with my voice alone.”

“She could be right about that,” Eliar said. “Back when she had me chained to that post in her throne room, she made a lot of speeches about me, and she even convinced
me
that something awful should happen to that monster Eliar.”

“It all more or less fits together, Dweia,” Althalus conceded. “We’ll have Albron introduce her, and then she makes a stirring plea for aid. Then she can turn it over to me, and I’ll give them the details and make the offer. Albron knows what’s
really
going on, so he’ll be able to make introductions and smooth over any rough spots.” He leaned back in his chair. “There
is
a slight inconsistency, though. It wouldn’t really be normal for a ruler to make a plea like this in person, would it? Isn’t that what diplomats are for?”

“Whatever gave you the idea that I’d behave the way other rulers would?” Andine demanded. “I almost
never
do expected things. It goes sort of like this, Althalus. Despite the violent objections of all my advisors, I’ve thrown caution to the winds, and with only a few retainers, I’ve traveled to Arum to make my plea for help in my ongoing war with the villainous Kanthons. At great personal risk, I’ve braved the dangers of a troubled world to go to Albron’s castle to present my case to the noble Clan Chiefs. I’m so unbelievably courageous that you and everybody else who’ll be there can hardly stand to be in the same room with me.”

“Isn’t that just a shade melodramatic?” Bheid objected.

“I’m going to be speaking to Arums, Brother Bheid,” Andine pointed out. “I’d take a different approach with Perquaines or Equeros. Arums are a melodramatic people, and I’ll give them a performance they’ll never forget. Just ask Albron to introduce me and then get out of my way. I’ll
own
those Chiefs within a half an hour.”

“Aren’t we being just a bit overconfident?” Leitha asked.

“Not a bit, Leitha,” Andine replied. “I’m the very best.”

“Excuse me,” Gher said.

“Go ahead, Gher,” Althalus told him. “Is there something you’d like to add?”

“Well, wouldn’t that be just a little
too
simple? What I’m getting at is would the Arums believe that it’d take
that
many soldiers to run all over just
one
city?”

“He’s got a point there, Althalus,” Eliar agreed. “Sergeant Khalor told us that the lowlanders always try to get by with hiring just as few soldiers as they possibly can. I think we’re going to need a bigger war to make the Clan Chiefs believe us.”

“It’s the only war I’ve got right now,” Althalus replied.

“Well, not really,” Gher disagreed. “There’s the one between you and Ghend, isn’t there?”

“That’s a religious war, Gher. Didn’t you hear Albron when he said that Arums don’t get mixed up in wars that’re based on religion?” He shook his head. “We’ve got to stick to politics and leave religion out of it.”

“Why not just say that the Kanthons are working for the Nekweros? Or that they’re on the same side, or something? From what Leitha says, nobody really knows very much about the Nekweros—except that they’re real scary. Couldn’t we sort of say that there’s a King or something in Nahgharash who wants to take over the whole world and that he’s managed to talk the silly fellow in Kanthon into joining up with him? Wouldn’t that be sort of close to what’s
really
going on? And shouldn’t a good lie have a certain amount of truth mixed up in it? If the only war we talk about is the one between Lady Andine and the nitwit in Kanthon, the story’s just a little too short. Shouldn’t there be sort of an open end in it, something we can’t quite explain?”

“I think you’d better look to your tail feathers, Althalus,” Leitha suggested. “I’d say that the boy’s gaining on you.”

———

A warm wind swept across the mountains of Arum the night after Althalus and his friends returned to Chief Albron’s castle, and it cut the snow out of the passes the way a hot knife cuts butter. The melting snow sent all the streams out of their banks, and after the floods had subsided, the rest of the Clan Chiefs began to arrive.

Koleika, the heir apparent to the gross Chief Neigwal, was the first to reach Chief Albron’s castle. Koleika was lean, with jet black hair and a jutting lower jaw. He was a somber man dressed in leather, and he wore snug leather trousers rather than the traditional kilt of most Arums. He spoke very seldom, and when he did, he had the peculiar habit of never permitting his upper lip to move. Upon his arrival, he spoke briefly with Albron and then largely kept to himself.

A few days later, Smeugor and Tauri, the Chiefs of the two southern clans, rode in. Smeugor was stout, with a fiery red face that was a sea of angry red pimples interspersed with deep scars. He affected an air of forced gaiety, but his narrow eyes were cold and as hard as agates. Tauri had sparse yellow hair and no trace of a beard. He evidently thought of himself as a ladies’ man. He wore elegant lowlander garb that wasn’t too clean, and he eyed every female in Albron’s hall with open lasciviousness. Even as Koleika had, Smeugor and Tauri largely kept to themselves after their arrival.

“I’m catching some hints of ancient hostilities in the air, Albron,” Althalus told their host somewhat later. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

“It’s a leftover from the old clan wars, Althalus,” Albron conceded. “No Clan Chief really trusts any of the others. This conclave you’ve asked me to arrange is a break with tradition, and the others are quite suspicious about the whole thing. The history of Arum is a melancholy repetition of deceptions, betrayals, and open murders. We’re always on our guard when we enter the territory of another clan. If I hadn’t made an issue of your gold, most of the others would probably have begged off. Things should liven up when Twengor arrives.”

Chief Twengor—big, burly, and vastly bearded—was roaring drunk when he reached Albron’s castle, and his nephew, Chief Laiwon, rode closely beside him to steady his swaying uncle and keep him from falling off his horse. Twengor bawled ancient drinking songs as he rode, sending off-key echoes bouncing down the gorge. Laiwon was an abrupt young man who definitely stood in his more famous uncle’s shadow.

Chief Gweti was the last to arrive, and Althalus noticed immediately that the other Chiefs went out of their way to avoid him. Gweti had an overly large head but a very tiny face that barely covered a quarter of it. This gave him a sort of pinched-in look. His bulging eyes shifted continually, and he had a nervous tic in one cheek. When he spoke, his voice sounded very much like the bleating of a sheep.

“I thought they’d all be more like Albron,” Andine said to her friends with a slightly worried frown, “but these others are howling barbarians, aren’t they?”

“Are we having some doubts about our oratorical ability, dear?” Leitha asked her friend.

“No, not really,” Andine replied. “I think I’ll have to change my approach, that’s all. Albron’s relatively civilized, but I think any degree of subtlety might be a bit beyond these others. I may have to beat them over the head with a club to get their attention.”

“I just can’t wait to hear your speech, Andine.”

“To be perfectly honest about it, Leitha, neither can I,” Andine replied, still looking worried.

The kilted Clan Chiefs of Arum and their sizable retinues gathered in Albron’s hall for breakfast on the morning after Gweti’s arrival, and the noise level was quite a bit higher than usual. Albron liked a certain amount of decorum at mealtimes, but some of the other Clan Chiefs were a bit on the rowdy side. After breakfast, Albron suggested that the chiefs and their immediate advisors should gather in some quieter place to discuss the reason he had issued the call for a conclave.

The conference room to which he led them was near the back of his castle, far away from the noisy near riot in the dining hall. The room was secure, well guarded, and
not
in one of the towers. An old Arum folktale had concerned a mass assassination that had once taken place in a tower, so by tradition, all meetings of the various Chiefs took place on the ground floor. There was a table in the center of the room with large chairs for the Chiefs and smaller chairs behind them for assorted advisors. The twenty kegs Althalus and Eliar had brought from the House were stacked unobtrusively in one corner, and there were chairs for Althalus and his friends at the lower end of the table where they could face the assembled Chiefs.

“What’s this all about, Albron?” Twengor demanded in his bellowing voice. “Nobody’s called a general conclave for over a century.”

“I’ve been approached by the ruler of one of the city-states of Treborea,” Albron replied. “It seems, gentlemen, that there’s an employment opportunity in the wind.”